


Four Times Rolan Spoke For Valdemar, and Once He was Speechless For Himself

by st_aurafina



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Gen, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_aurafina/pseuds/st_aurafina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rolan is not like other Companions. He Chooses again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Rolan Spoke For Valdemar, and Once He was Speechless For Himself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VelvetMouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VelvetMouse/gifts).



Rolan was born running. Springing from the Grove the instant his predecessor died, he had moved with speed he did not know was preternatural until he was at Talamir's side on the battleground. There was no time to wonder at physicality or the intensity of the Bond with his Chosen. Talamir's wound was heart-deep – he had lost his King, felt his Companion die – and it was all Rolan could to do to hold him to this plane. 

:Stay,: he told Talamir. :I Choose you. Stay, for your Queen, for your land, for all that is good.: 

He was surprised to find the Bond so strong. It carolled through him, deep in his chest, with love and concern for this man. He had not expected to be so invested in Talamir's existence, in the love the man had for his family, for his friends and shield brothers. While he coaxed Talamir's tenuous existence into strength again, Rolan felt a prickle of uncertainty. It was possible that he might have many Chosen in his service to Valdemar, and it was surely impractical to feel so very much for just one. 

Talamir reached for him, flinched once when it was Rolan's nose and not Taver's that he stroked, but persisted with a grim determination that was both remarkable and terrifying. For duty, and for Valdemar, Talamir turned away from the Havens, and the pain that it caused him was pain for Rolan, too. And yet they endured, because it was what was needed. 

In the tent by the battlefield, Rolan whickered encouragement, and brushed his lips against Talamir's hand. :We will heal, my friend. We will rebuild Valdemar. Stay.: 

Stay for me, whispered a treacherous part of Rolan's mind, but there was no time and he did not have the right. 

\---

After Talamir's death, Choosing again was very different. Rolan had to make a true choice this time, rather than take Taver's place next to the experienced Talamir. He was riding out to find a Queen's Own Herald fit to serve a difficult Heir. 

Talia was small, smaller than most children her age, Rolan imagined, despite little experience with human younglings. Therein was the problem he was trying to solve, for Elspeth, the Heir, had become wild, unreachable by a Herald of Talamir's age. Perhaps a child best knew other children. 

Rolan hoped this child could save the Heir. Talia's upbringing had been rigid and insular, but she had nonetheless chosen to value kindness and compassion. Insularity would not aid her at Court, but youth and compassion might change Elspeth's path and provide Valdemar with the Heir that it needed. 

For that, he and Talia must have trust between them, and since they could not speak mind to mind, Rolan sought other means to know his new Chosen. He lingered on his return to Haven, taking a less than direct route, so that the Bond between them could flourish. For the sake of the Heir, for the sake of the land, the Bond must be strong. 

Talia did not understand his nature, yet. She did not remember the words that he spoke on that lonely roadside, and her Gifts did not seem to include mindspeaking. Rolan wondered, as they rode, if they'd ever speak mind to mind, and if the lack of such a thing would be an impediment to their partnership. His Bond with Talamir may have been imperfect and guarded, but Talamir had always been able to voice his thoughts. 

Talia chatted as they walked, pointing out things she saw in the fields, wondering at what would be around the corner, counting her stores and watching for the next village. It was a sharp contrast to Talamir's quiet thinking and considered words, with little separation between thought and speech. Talamir would shake his head at the lack of strategy. Talamir had been circumspect until his last breath. 

A small hand brushed the line of his crest, smoothing the mane. "You seem sad today, Rolan. I don't know why I'd think a horse was sad. I suppose horses do get sad, sometimes." Talia flung her arms around his neck and squeezed. "Don't worry. I'll look after you," she said, and meant every word. 

\---

Rolan ambled across Companion's Field, slow and directionless as a retired packhorse, because they had the leisure to do so. Draped across his back, arms and legs dangling on each side, Talia nestled her cheek against his neck. 

"We learned about you in class today," she said. She was already somehow bigger – brighter, happier, perhaps – after only weeks at the Collegium, and though she still had moments of sadness, Rolan felt assured that he had Chosen well and that this was a better home for her than her father's Hold. 

"Herald Teren told us about the Grove-Born Companions and how they appear when they're needed." Talia was wistful, still awed by the responsibilities ahead of her. "I promise, Rolan. I'll do my best to be as special as you are, even if I don't really know how. I suppose that's why I'm here. To learn." 

Rolan snorted, a sound of encouragement. Their wandering took them past a group of Companion mares. A gangly-legged foal broke away from the group and danced his way in their direction before his mother nipped neatly at his heels and rounded him to her flank. Rolan carried serenely on past the group. He had a reputation to maintain, after all.

Talia, though, giggled at both the foal's goggle-eyed expression of outrage, and Rolan's carefully maintained posture of dignity. "Silly foals," she said, happily. "Oh, but Rolan! You're Grove-Born! You were never a foal!" 

This was an odd concept, and one that Rolan hadn't ever bothered to consider. He flicked his ears towards Talia, quizzical. She slithered to the ground and stood before him, pressing her forehead to his. 

"You never got to do the silly stuff! You know, foal things! Do you know how to play?" 

Having no answer for her, and no way to express his confusion at this question, Rolan breathed out a great sigh, to make her laugh as it tickled her belly. 

"Come on," she said, suddenly, and sprinted for the woods. "Catch me! I bet you can't!" 

Rolan watched her vanish, puzzled. Of course he could catch her; no human girl could outrun a Companion. And when he did, he would be able to find her anywhere in the coppice of narrow trees. Their Bond was young but very strong. He would always find her, no matter the danger they faced together.

Beside his mother, the foal pranced and jumped, bucking in nervous anticipation, desperately wanting to join the chase. Talia was invisible, but Rolan could feel her laughter as she crouched behind a rock, dappled with late summer sun. Then, inspired by the foal, he kicked up his heels and bolted for the forest to catch his Chosen and bowl her over. They both had time to play, and duty could wait.

Later that year, when he dived into the frozen river, Rolan called for help, for ropes, for Heralds. As he searched the icy water for Talia, he willed her to remember that sunny evening of play. 

:I will always find you, Chosen.: 

\---

Rolan paced up and down behind Talia, crunching through the snow and shaking his mane in agitation as her power flared through her fragile shields and threatened the group once again. Why couldn't she control herself? This was the worst place to lose control. The Forest of Sorrows would defend itself, and the result would be terrible. 

He felt fractured, in a way that was foreign to a creature that always knew his purpose, always knew right from wrong. Part of him wanted desperately to snatch Talia up and flee from the dangers here in the forest, shield her from the horrors that the future promised. This was so contrary to the cause that it made his flesh crawl. It was Talia's power that made him think such selfish things, surely. A Companion, the Grove-Born, should be invulnerable to base emotions. He flared his nostrils, shrieked in anger, stamped his feet through the deep crust of the snow bank. Tantris quailed beside him, hung his head and retreated submissively. Somewhere in the clearing, knee-deep in ice, Kris sobbed. 

The snow hung in the air, caught between breaths as the thing that slumbered in the Forest of Sorrows snarled into awareness. Questing tendrils of thought brushed over everyone, and the raw power of Vanyel's ghost swept Rolan's mind still. Talia's, too, apparently, since the waves of emotions that battered abated. 

Rolan exhaled, twin clouds of steam. His purpose was clear again. He moved forward with precise steps until he stood shoulder to shoulder with his Chosen. Together they faced the awareness in the forest, though only Rolan knew what it was that watched them. He summoned the full force of his presence, shining brightly against the snow. 

:I am Rolan, known to you, Vanyel Ashkevron. I thank you for your vigilance; there is no danger here. We are of Valdemar, as you were once. Sleep, now. It is not your time.: 

The awareness flickered in recognition, paused, and withdrew. Suddenly the clearing was just an opening in the trees. Kris struggled to his Companion, and reached for Talia, pulling her in close. Rolan pressed his body against Tantris, and all was forgiven. 

On the long, slow ride home to Haven, though, Rolan wondered what might have happened, if he had fled with Talia. No great purpose, no cause to defend, just a bond of love and protection. No, he told himself sternly. She is for Valdemar. We all are. 

Still, he was glad of her, warm on his back, grown strong and powerful. She was for Valdemar, but she was still his Chosen, and he loved her. 

\---

The idea had come from the Herald, Dirk. A rescue had seemed impossible to Rolan, who, exhausted and gaunt from his flight, could only wait for the great tearing pain. He knew it from Talamir's death, and knew it would come with Talia's. It would mean peace for Talia, he told himself, but there was little comfort for him in that thought. She had done everything that Valdemar had asked of her and given everything there was to give. He wished desperately to go with her, but he was not like other Companions, and so again he faced the agony of surviving alone. 

Dirk, though, Dirk had the liberty to lose himself in the effort to save her, and once the plan was conceived, Rolan had the power to make it possible. At the very end of it, when all the Companions had thrown their strength against the distance, Rolan eked more and more energy from his body, and found a last reserve in that secret, selfish place where he loved Talia just for herself. 

Suddenly, she was there in Dirk's arms, and Rolan staggered. His Chosen was hurt – so very hurt, in heart and body – but she was real, and she was here. His purpose, the great cause, none of it mattered in that moment. Rolan brushed her brow gently with his lips, and his soul sang: his Chosen, his Talia had returned to him. There was no need for words.


End file.
